If there had been a sudden stir of leaves,
the crack of a dry branch, the faintest rustle, she would have screamed
aloud. But she shook off the unworthy weakness. Such as she was, a
fiddle-scraping girl picked up on the very threshold of infamy, she
would try to rise above herself, triumphant and humble; and then
happiness would burst on her like a torrent, flinging at her feet the
man whom she loved.
Heyst stirred slightly.
"We had better be getting back, Lena, since we can't stay all night in
the woods--or anywhere else, for that matter. We are the slaves of
this infernal surprise which has been sprung on us by--shall I say
fate?--your fate, or mine."
It was the man who had broken the silence, but it was the woman who
led the way. At the very edge of the forest she stopped, concealed by a
tree. He joined her cautiously.
"What is it? What do you see, Lena?" he whispered.
She said that it was only a thought that had come into her head. She
hesitated for a moment giving him over her shoulder a shining gleam in
her grey eyes. She wanted to know whether this trouble, this danger,
this evil, whatever it was, finding them out in their retreat, was not a
sort of punishment.
"Punishment?" repeated Heyst. He could not understand what she meant.
When she explained, he was still more surprised. "A sort of retribution,
from an angry Heaven?" he said in wonder.
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